Chuck vs The Flu Shot
by HJB
Summary: What the title says. Fluff. No redeeming qualities. Chuck/Sarah of course.


_AN: Just an idea that popped into my head one day. Medical timeline is not 100 accurate, but what are you going to do._

Chuck vs. The Flu Shot

Big Mike was very happy as he walked into the BuyMore on a sunny Friday morning. Eight hours stood between him and a weekend filled with mini-golf and beer. His mood brightened even more upon seeing a giant orange bus pull into the parking lot. That day was the day where he assured himself a productive winter season at the electronics conglomerate.

"What in the world," Morgan said, coming to a stop in the middle of the store's main aisle.

Chuck Bartowski was following too closely behind his green shirted friend to stop their collision. The loosely clutched folders in his hands cascaded to the floor. Sheets of paper spread over the linoleum like spilled milk. Morgan didn't even realize what happened so the lanky Nerd Herder was forced to clean up the mess by himself.

"Geez Morgan. The least you could do is give me some warning," he said, finally managing to corral all of the freed documents.

Still staring outside in wonder, Morgan replied, "Sorry man, but look at that monster."

"What monst….holy crap. What is that," the taller man questioned upon seeing the object of his friend's attention.

"That is my productivity insurance policy," Big Mike interrupted.

"Like car, home, and fire type of stuff," the bearded man stated, cupping his hand around his chin in the classic thinking-man pose.

"No you idiot. It's a traveling flu vaccination center. After last years mysterious outbreak, some of which I know was not legitimate," he said, looking pointedly at Morgan before continuing, "I decided to be proactive. No more overtime. Every employee will be getting a shot today. If someone cashes in a sick day for anything other than a hysterectomy, I will not be happy. When I'm not happy, the store isn't happy. You get the picture."

Chuck, who had no great love for needles, swallowed hard at his boss's explanation. The massive moving hospital drew closer with every breath he took. It really was a monster.

"Uh sir, I don't think that's right," the younger man said, trying to persuade Big Mike to forfeit his quest for storewide health.

"Do I look like I care Bartowski," Big Mike deadpanned.

"I mean that I don't think you can legally require the employees to inject vaccine into their bodies Big…sir," he stammered.

"Who cares about legality? Anyone who does not present me a form that says they received their shot will have stock room duty for the next three months. Spread the word," Big Mike ordered, taking a swig of his coffee. He gave the store a once over before walking away and locking himself in his office.

"How many gaming systems do you think we could have going in something like that," Morgan pondered aloud, startling Chuck, who had forgotten his friend was part of the conversation.

"Uh…I don't know. A lot, probably," he said.

As if sensing that his friend was no longer concerned with his philosophical musings, Morgan went off to do some pretend work. Chuck, on the other hand, was immensely worried about the impending encounter with an evil nurse. He had already cooked up the image of a gray haired, hefty old lady holding him down and plunging the eight foot long needle into his arm. The mental image sent a shudder down his spine, as he snuck out of the BuyMore and into the Weinerlicious.

Sarah Walker, spy extraordinaire was busy cooking up a batch of breakfast corn dogs when Chuck covertly entered the store. Well, Chuck thought it was inconspicuous, but Sarah just inwardly chuckled at his antics. Setting the timer on the oven, she turned around and gave him her 'What can I do for you' smile. He put his finger to his lips and pivoted from side to side, until he was within whispering distance. Suddenly, things were not so humorous. Her spy senses were tingling at Chuck's behavior.

"What's going on," she questioned, trying to keep the concern from her voice.

He looked around once more before leaning in and saying, "The CIA can manufacture documents right?"

"You mean forge," she questioned, puzzled.

"Yes…exactly," he said, raising his voice slightly at the end of his sentence. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"I need to get a form, a medical form."

"Did you have a flash?"

He raised his brow in surprise.

"No. This is something much worse," he said solemnly.

Chuck's actions and tone had Sarah immensely confused. She was wavering between fear and annoyance. Things had been rocky between the odd couple, but he wasn't the type of person to cook up stories just to get her goat.

"Tell me what is going on right now or I'm going to beat it out of you," she ordered.

He knew she meant business so he gave up the charade, confessing, "Big Mike hired a mobile flu center to vaccinate the BuyMore staff and I really don't like needles."

Her exasperation was evident. "You're ridiculous. You can't come in here acting like someone's after you when you're just being a wimp."

Chuck was taken aback by her assassination of his character. "I'm not a wimp. I just don't like needles or anything sharp for that matter." Gaining confidence as he spoke, he flashed his fierce protector a dazzling smile before asking, "So will you help me?"

Turning around to check on the food, Sarah had Chuck waiting with bated breath for her answer. When she faced him again, there was a sweet smile on her face. Her demeanor did not mesh with her answer, as she simply said, "No."

"Please," Chuck beseeched, giving his last best effort.

"Nope. Sorry, but it would be an improper use of taxpayer money and CIA resources," she explained.

"Like you've never done it before," he said, not realizing that questioning an agent's ethics was a recipe for disaster.

Sarah's mouth formed a grim line at his words, but she remained relatively unfazed. "I'm going to let that slide Mr. Bartowski. Now, go back to work and get your shot. It'll be good for you and the Intersect to stay healthy," she said, grabbing his arm, leading him to the door, and giving him a peck on the lips.

Chuck fought her the entire way, but was physically stunned to inaction at her affectionate behavior. No matter how many times she did things like that to maintain their cover, Chuck was always thrown for a loop. He nodded his head at her words and stumbled outside. Catching sight of the 'Bus of Death', he jumped back and scurried through the BuyMore's automatic doors.

Situating himself at the Nerd Herd desk, Chuck began to get down to business. As time went by and work piled up, he became less concerned about the vicious instrument that was waiting to attack him. Unfortunately, his furry friend soon entered the picture. His right sleeve was rolled up to his shoulder.

"Man Chuck, they just don't make em' like they used to," Morgan said, coming to a stop in front of the desk.

Chuck looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"The nurses Chuck. Back in school, they were nasty, old church ladies, but the bus babes are hawt. Mine even gave my band-aid a kiss," he clarified.

"You..you got your shot then?"

"Of course I got my shot. Why else would I have my sleeve pulled up," he said in a tone that questioned Chuck's competency as a human with eyeballs.

"Oh, well I thought you just wanted Anna to notice that you've been working out," Chuck countered.

Morgan grinned at Chuck, signaling the end of his charade. "You know it is, but the shot gave me the perfect excuse. Is she looking at me?"

Chuck swiveled in his chair to search for the ever inappropriately dressed girlfriend. His search was interrupted when Morgan began to wave his hands and utter commands to stop.

"I don't want her to know that I care. She's over by the Wall. Discretely look over my shoulder and tell me how badly she's staring," Morgan advised.

Pretending to read a brochure, Chuck stood up as slowly as his legs would allow. He spotter Anna talking animatedly to a customer. "Sorry buddy, but she's just working. There's no smoldering gaze."

"Not even a jealous glance at the women walking past me," he said, grasping for straws.

"Nope," Chuck assured.

"What are you doing reading on the job Bartowski," barked a voice from behind. It was Big Mike.

Chuck put the brochure down, turned around, and gave the manager his most appeasing smile. The look on the larger man's face indicated his lack of pacification.

"Just trying to expand my knowledge base so that I can better serve our customers, sir," he lied.

Big Mike was about to reprimand Chuck when he caught sight of Morgan's love fest with his bicep. "What the hell are you doing Grimes? Roll that sleeve down and give me your form."

"Here you go big guy," he said dejectedly, before covering his bandaged arm with the green shirt sleeve and handing over a slip of paper.

Big Mike perused the paper. He then turned his attention towards Chuck, who recoiled slightly. "Where's your form Bartowski?"

"I haven't gotten my shot yet. Work's been hectic and I didn't want the store to suffer," he replied.

"Get one of your cohorts to cover for you and get over there," Big Mike ordered.

Chuck nodded his head in acceptance. He, Morgan, and Big Mike then stood in silence for a moment. Each was wondering when one of the others was going to act.

"Now," Big Mike yelled.

Chuck was startled. His elbow knocked over a cup of pencils and his chair clanged against the file cabinet. Ignoring all of that, he instructed Morgan to watch the counter until Anna came back and bid farewell to his short-tempered boss.

The steps towards the 'Bus of Pain' were some of the longest he had ever taken. After a brief pause outside of its doors, he pushed forward, into the abyss. It wasn't as imposing as his mind had imagined. A pretty, young nurse quickly approached him and showed him where to sit. He waited for about five minutes before the nurse retrieved him. There were several curtained off rooms in the back of the bus and he was put in the center space. The nurse left to get the forms and Chuck moved his gaze around his tiny confines.

"Ok Mr. Bartowski, let's get this over with," said an old, hefty nurse from the entrance to his room.

"Wha..what happened to the other lady," he questioned, fear rising at the appearance of a less than hawt nurse.

"Oh, you mean Nancy. She had to go on a break, but I can take care of you," she explained, taking a syringe from a case on the room's only table. She motioned to the table's chair, saying, "Have a seat, roll up your sleeve, and put you arm on the table.

"I don't think this is such a good idea. I think I'll come back later," he said, heading towards the curtain.

The nurse grabbed his arm. Not wanting to fight with an older woman, Chuck put up little resistance as she forced him onto the wooden chair. Deciding to stop fighting the inevitable, he took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeve, and looked the nurse in the eyes. She gave him what he perceived as a menacing smile, before swabbing his arm with an alcohol pad. The circulation band chaffed his skin when she secured it around his limb. His hands clenched in fear, but Nurse Beverly, as she asked to be called, instructed him to remain calm. The syringe's metal tip caught the light from the ceiling fan when Nurse Beverly tested it. Chuck thought it looked like a sword ready to decapitate him.

"Here we go," she announced, plunging the tip of the syringe into Chuck's arm. Compressing the dispenser, she administered the vaccine. It was over and done with before Chuck had blinked.

"That's it," he said in amazement.

"That's it. You took it better than some other people. I had a rather gruff looking man earlier, who insisted on injecting himself. John something or other."

"No way," Chuck said, grinning.

Nurse Beverly handed him his papers and ushered him out of the bus. He gave her a wave of thanks before whistling his way back through the BuyMore doors. Anna looked at him expectantly when he crossed her line of vision. He put his hand up in a silent attempt to buy himself more time. She nodded her head. Chuck knocked on Big Mike's office door and entered immediately.

"Have you no decency," the manager chided, taking his legs of his desk and tucking in his shirt.

"Guess not sir, but here is the form you requested," he gloated, laying the form in Big Mike's box.

The older man looked at him in shock and amusement. "You really did it eh Bartowski?"

"Yes sir. No way was I going to spend three months in the stock room."

Big Mike chuckled, saying, "You really thought I was going to put you in the stockroom?"

Chuck looked bewildered. "That is what you said."

"Didn't you learn anything from Grimes and my sales competition?"

Chuck's jaw dropped. "It was all a ruse?"

"Like you said Bartowski, I couldn't legally force these lazy people to get vaccinated. But there was no way I was going to let us have another repeat of Winter 07'," he explained.

"You lied."

"I led. You should get used to it, if you want the Assistant Manager job."

Chuck wanted to say more, but decided that it was best to leave the situation alone. Instead, he gave Big Mike his customary midday report. His mood dampened, he made his way back to the Nerd Herd desk and worked away the afternoon. By three o'clock, he felt horrible. His arm hurt where the plunger had struck and his whole body ached.

Morgan beckoned his from the break room hallway, but, as he stood up to respond, the room began to spin. Before he knew it, he was plummeting toward the ground. His head made a sickening crack against the desktop. Several customers turned to stare. His horizontally challenged friend leaped over the counter to come to his rescue, but Chuck registered none of it.

A spiky haired man in a red vest witnessed the entire scene and gleefully ran out of the store. Scooter was happy anytime he could needle his most frustrating employee. She was hard at work stacking ketchup packets when he entered the Weinerlicious.

"Just saw your boy toy in the BuyMore Ms. Walker," he sang.

Sarah's gaze flicked to his face, but she gave no other reaction.

"He took a nasty fall. Just stood up and crumpled to the floor," Scooter continued.

That got Sarah's attention. Her whole head turned in her boss' direction. She saw the truth in his eyes and vaulted over the counter, not bothering to give an explanation. Her legs carried her quickly into the BuyMore. She knew she was being dramatic for an international spy, but her mind justified it as the logical reaction a girlfriend would have toward her boyfriend, if said boyfriend had injured himself.

The scene inside the store was somewhat comical. Almost the entire staff was huddled around the Nerd Herd station, ignoring their customers pleas for assistance. As she drew closer, Sarah realized there was a nurse hunched over Chuck's sprawled form. The nurse was young and she was running her hand all over his body. Sarah fought back the green eyed monster. She refused to even acknowledge his existence.

"What happened," she questioned, kneeling down opposite of the nurse.

The lady moved to speak, but Morgan answered first. "I was calling him in to officiate our finger football competition and he just collapsed."

"I think he's having an adverse reaction to his flu shot. It's not common, but nothing to be overly concerned about," the nurse explained, rising from the floor.

Sarah fought back guilt at her behavior that morning with regards to Chuck's strange request. He wasn't afraid for medical reasons, but she figured that she could have been a bit more understanding. As it was, he still needed her help.

"What should we do," Sarah inquired. Her hand unconsciously slid up and down the side of Chuck's face.

"Take him home, give him some Tylenol, and wait it out. If he continues to be dizzy and has trouble breathing, take him to the hospital. Most likely, he'll have a fever and the aches. It shouldn't last more than a few days," the nurse said.

"And did you warn him about these side effects before injecting him with your poison," Sarah interrogated, caught up in concern for Chuck.

The nurse was surprised, but had obviously dealt with similar situations. "He was briefed on them before signing the consent form. If you'll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to. When he wakes up, tell Chuck that I wish him the best," she said, before turning around and leaving the store.

The BuyMore staff was shocked at the show they had just witnessed. Sarah, on the other hand, was unfazed. The nurse had left her mind the minute she was out of sight. She instead concentrated on getting Chuck home.

"Morgan, would you help me get Chuck to my car?"

"Yeah..sure," he replied, leaning down to sling Chuck's arm over his shoulder.

They got Chuck to his feet, but the height difference between Morgan and Sarah made for an interesting and difficult journey to the Porsche parked in the lot. Sarah tucked Chuck safely into the passenger seat. Morgan seemed reluctant to leave his friend's side. Sensing his concern, Sarah assured him that she would call with updates on Chuck's condition. That was enough to assuage his worries.

Sarah eased into the low-lying vehicle and slowly drove out of the BuyMore Plaza. For reasons that Sarah could not fathom, she was driving like a grandmother who had lost her glasses. Even when Chuck was in the car, she was usually a furious driver. Seeing Chuck so weak and vulnerable brought out something inside of her that wanted him to be safe. With her newfound driving technique, they reached Chuck's apartment complex in thirty minutes time, which was ten minutes longer than the journey's normal duration.

Jumping out of the car, Sarah rushed to Chuck's side. Tapping him lightly on the planes of his face, she tried to bring him back to consciousness. He began to move and moan, after a few moments of effort. Sarah smiled and urged Chuck to open his eyes. Eventually, he complied with her wish, revealing his unfocused brown orbs to her fretful gaze. Just like the scene in the BuyMore, she draped his arm over her shoulders and lifted him out of the Porsche.

"Come on Chuck. Help me out a little. One foot in front of the other," she instructed, closing the car door with a backward kick of her leg.

"I'm trying," he slurred. "Everything hurts."

She frowned in concern, still struggling under his deadweight. "I know it does, but the sooner we get you inside, the better."

Chuck finally seemed to react to her words and made a concerted effort to propel his body toward the apartment door. When they reached their destination, Sarah looked up at Chuck expectantly. He looked back at her in the same manner.

"Aren't you going to open the door," she questioned.

He looked at her incredulously. "I don't have my keys. I assumed you grabbed them since I was unconscious at the time."

Frustration flittered across her face before being replaced by a meek embarrassment. "You're right. I should have gotten them but I was a little preoccupied," she smiled.

Rifling through her purse, she pulled out something that resembled a Swiss Army knife. "No problem though. The CIA didn't spend thousands of dollars training me only to be stopped by a locked door," she joked, easily picking the lock and ushering them inside the apartment. Deciding that he was steady enough to venture out on his own, Sarah instructed Chuck to go into his room, get changed, and get into bed. While he wandered away, she rummaged through the kitchen, looking for the proper supplies.

Upon entering his domain, Sarah realized that he wasn't quite done dressing. He had his arms in the air, as he struggled to put on his t-shirt. It was endearing and pathetic at the same time. She took pity on him, grabbing the fabric and tugging it in the direction needed to complete the process. He turned around in surprise, giving her a weary smile. Patting his arm, she handed him two pills and a glass of water.

"Take these and settle down. I have to go to my car," she said.

"Oh..I understand. Well, thanks for bringing me home. It was above and beyond," he said, trying to cover up the disappointment lacing his voice.

Sarah gave an small grin at his misunderstanding and ruffled appearance. "I'm just going to get a change of clothes. I'll be right back."

His surprise was evident. "Right. Right. See you then," he said, immediately regretting his lame choice of words.

She floated out of the room. With exaggerated movements, Chuck pulled back his covers and slid into the comfortable bed. He heard Sarah enter the apartment. When she did not appear in his doorway, Chuck assumed that she was changing. The thought made him blush slightly, but the heat in his face was quickly stolen. He began to realize just how cold the room was. In an effort to conserve body heat, he pulled the covers over his head and tightened their grip on his body. It was no use, however. His teeth even began to chatter slightly.

Having changed out of her skimpy work clothes, Sarah was now comfortable in a pair of jeans and a white cotton t-shirt. She smiled affectionately upon entering Chuck's room and seeing the curled lump of covers. Her face morphed into concern when she realized that he was rocking back and forth. She sat down on his bed, pulling back the blankets.

"Chuck, are you alright?"

"No. It's freezing in here. Can you turn on the heat or something," he said, teeth clearly fighting to maintain his body's homeostasis.

Sarah felt his forehead. Normally, her touch would send jolts throughout his body, but Chuck was barely aware of her motherly action.

"You feel warm. I'm going to get you some more blankets," she said, wandering into the hallway.

She reappeared with several blankets in her arms and draped them over Chuck's body. He smiled at her in appreciation. She sat down in his desk chair. After several concerned minutes, his shaking stopped. He was comfortable now, but Sarah knew he would be throwing the covers off in a few hours. His eyes fought a losing battle in their struggle to remain open. Seeing his state, she got out of the chair and walked across the room.

With surprising energy, he grabbed her wrist as she passed him. "Where are you going?"

Sarah tucked his arm back under the covers and put her hands on her hips, saying, "You dozing off Chuck. I'm going to go make you some soup for when you wake up."

Assured that she wasn't leaving, Chuck nodded his agreement and burrowed back into his cocoon. He was out like a light in no time. Sarah spent the next two hours puttering around in the kitchen with skill that very few people knew she possessed. Upon finishing, she put her creation in a heat saving container.

She once again entered Chuck's room and sat in his desk chair. He was slumbering as peacefully as possible for a person having a flu shot reaction. Every once and a while Sarah would smile at the snore that escaped his nose and mouth. Sometime in the early evening, he began to stir. Sarah quickly headed for the kitchen to pour him a bowl of her soup. She placed it on his bedside table and sat in the familiar chair.

"How long was I out for," he questioned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"A few hours. Are you feeling better," Sarah softly replied.

Taking a moment to assess how he actually felt, Chuck shook his head. "Not really."

She kneeled beside his bed and helped him get into an upright position. Making sure it wasn't too hot, Sarah handed him the ceramic bowl. He looked at her strangely.

"Chicken noodle soup?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you too mature for this universal remedy?"

He didn't answer right away, taking time to consider her question. She hit him on the shoulder. "Eat it already. It will be good for you. Besides, I made it myself."

"In that case," he said, putting the bowl back on his nightstand.

"I'll have you know that this soup is my specialty. It was my moms recipe," she said. With those dozen or so words, things turned serious.

"Really," Chuck asked, with more intensity than one word should be able to hold.

She sighed. Somewhere in her subconscious, she had wanted to reveal this to Chuck. Even though he yearned to know things about her that she wasn't allowed to reveal, she couldn't make the tidbit seem like an overly important piece of information.

As nonchalantly as possible, she said, "Yes. She taught me when I was little and had just gotten over the chicken pox."

He seemed to be weighing her words and his very carefully. All he said was, "Thank you."

She nodded her head and moved towards the television. "Do you want to watch something?"

He shook his head. Sarah grabbed the remote and sunk down on the bed beside him. She stayed on top of the covers, but he could still feel the energy radiating from her. Sarah was also affected by Chuck's proximity. Instead of dwelling on it, she turned on the television and flipped through the channels. Chuck finally took a spoonful of her soup. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. It shouldn't have been, but his reaction was important to her.

"This is amazing," he declared, scooping up another serving.

"I'm glad you like it," she replied. Praise from Chuck always had a way of making her day.

"I love it. You're going to have to cook more often."

"So when does Ellie come home," Sarah said, trying to steer the conversation away from future forays into the culinary world. The soup was just about the only thing she could make properly. Her soufflé from their third date had been carefully crafted in a CIA kitchen.

Chuck was surprised by her change of subject, but answered accordingly. "Around eight."

Sarah glanced at the clock and saw that it was 6:30 PM.

"You can go when she gets here. My sister has been nursing me back to health for the last twenty years," he said, misinterpreting Sarah's words. He felt that if she didn't want to be there, he wasn't going to act like he wanted her there.

The CIA agent remained outwardly unaffected by his dismissal. Her mind, however, drew the correct conclusions and she cursed herself for her careless mouth. Neither said anything else. They ended up watching a Golden Girls marathon on Lifetime. Chuck dozed off halfway through the second episode, while Sarah lasted into the third.

Ellie came home at 8:00 PM. She was surprised to see Sarah's car on the street. Upon entering the apartment, she called out for Chuck. Heading into the hallway, she opened his door. The older sister was on the verge of entering when she saw the scene inside. Chuck was sprawled on his back. Sarah was lying on her stomach. Her head rested on Chuck's shoulder and her arm was thrown across his waist. The covers were a tangled mess between them. Ellie smiled, grabbed the dirty dishes, and quietly shut the door.

Chuck and Sarah stirred, sensing a disruption in the air. Both of them froze when they realized their not so uncomfortable situation. Neither moved.

"You stayed," Chuck said, smiling.

His hair was mussed, but Sarah thought he looked adorable. "Yeah," she replied.

Taking a serious route, Chuck said, "Taking care of me isn't really part of your job description."

She smiled. "I know. This isn't work"

They just grinned at each other for a few moments, before falling back to sleep. Sarah spent the rest of the weekend at the Bartowski home nursing Chuck back to health.

_THE END_


End file.
